


The Makings of a Spymaster

by Damceon



Series: Character Backstories [4]
Category: Gamer Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damceon/pseuds/Damceon
Summary: This character later became the Spymaster of a new nation... the campaign is called "Kingmaker"
Series: Character Backstories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672036





	The Makings of a Spymaster

“Wake up, Tane.” And a booted foot connected with the back of his right knee, jarring the youth awake.

Sergeant Alex Oppson gazed down at his newest charge grimly as the boy of thirteen years woke grumpily.

“Who are you?” Tane argued sleepily. “…Alex? Did you arrive this morning?”

“In the night.” Alex turned to the window and looked into the growing gray light of morning. “Your mother is making breakfast, we’re leaving as soon as you’re fed.”

“We?” Tane’s eyes widened in confusion, seeing the deep scarlet-stained bandages on Alex’s left arm and shoulder. “Alex, what’s happened.”

“I don’t rightly know, boy.” Alex looked back at the young man, the last bastard son of Malcolm Rogarvia. The only Rogarvia bastard in Greyhaven, Alex scowled. “Your uncle, Donal, sent me to your father in Silverhall nigh a week past. Malcolm is dead, Tane. Your father was murdered the night I arrived.”

Tane’s face grew pale, taut with fear.

“Did you kill him, Alex?” But the grizzled veteran shot the boy a withering look.

“If I were here for your blood, boy, I wouldn’t bother waking you.” Alex growled vehemently. “Get dressed and pack what you can carry. Be quick. We’re leaving Greyhaven before midday.”

…

Tane stirred fitfully in his sleep, now a grown man. Many nights were haunted by that fell morning. The death of his father, news of his uncle’s illness and the disappearances of the Rogarvia lineage. Gruesome murders were reported among the common-folk, dread whispers that hounded Tane and Alex as they fled from shadows they could never rightly see. Many times, Tane was not even certain they fled a real foe but rather some dark madness that gripped Alex with such force it frightened Tane to the core.

The first months had been the worst of it. Seeking shelter and solace among strangers who knew Alex by reputation only. A competent man-at-arms of House Rogarvia who had served Donal of Rogarvia for fifteen years before suddenly abandoning his post. Then Donal had taken ill. Cousin to the King, third in line of succession, Donal died two months before the King of Brevoy.

They had traveled north into Highdelve, skirting the provinces of House Surtova and west into Numeria. In Chesed, they had found refuge for almost two years. Then, in the dark of night, Alex had woke him again and they were back on the road and on the run. Tane had made friends with the lads his age, but Alex warned him often. Spies did not care for the boundaries of nations, and the enemies of Rogarvia were cunning and persistent.

From Chesed, they took the river way south to Hajoth Hakados and then followed the narrow trade paths back east into Brevoy along the southern borders. The forbidding presence of the River Kingdoms waited in the south, a lurking hungry beast watching and waiting for them to falter. They made for Silverhall, Alex was hoping to find some vestige of Malcolm’s estate intact or aide from anyone still loyal to the memory of Rogarvia. All he found were apologies and sentiments.

Agents of Surtova, or at the very least enemies of Rogarvia had been waiting. The ambush had cost Alex his life, but Tane managed to escape.

In his sleep, Tane clutched at an old wound; now a wicked scar that traveled down the length of his right side where Alex’s murderer had found purchase with his sickle-bladed dagger.

The ride from Silverhall to New Stetven had been nothing short of a waking nightmare. Tane spurred his horse until it lathered and blood ran from its nose, frantic to escape. The poor beast died only seven miles from the mouth of the East Sellen River and Tane had half-run, half-stumbled into New Stetven.

None knew him there but an aged surgeon that had seen the mud-streaked and blood-stained youth and known he could be none other than the son of Malcolm Rogarvia.

Tane had found rescue of a sort. The surgeon dressed his wounds, tended his fever and fed him. It was not the life of a merchant’s privileged son, as Tane had known so long ago in Grayhaven, or even the life of a bastard of Rogarvia when Malcolm had called on the boy to visit Silverhall many years ago. Tane was adopted, after a fashion, as the grandson of Elliot Brewer of New Stetven. Brewer was a common name. Elliot had served as field surgeon to Donal and Malcolm during hunting trips when the men had been younger and more indulgent of their caprices. The venerable surgeon had tended both men and had thought Tane to be Malcolm reborn. To better hide the bastard son of Malcolm, Elliot colored the man’s hair and insisted he use the surname Brewer… further, Tane took the name Alex in honor of the man-at-arms that had saved his life many times over the past three years.

Four years passed as Alex Brewer served as Elliot’s assistant and established himself as a lowly commoner. Less than a bastard of a royal house and bitter knowing the truth, Alex chafed at his new life. He dreamed of revenge, of reclaiming the glory of House Rogarvia... becoming a noble, or even King. He wanted House Surtova and all her allies to bleed for their crimes. But he was only a surgeon’s grandson, whose father had died during one of the many conflicts with the bandits of the Stolen Lands. He had no place to direct his revenge except south. In his mind, Surtova and the Stolen Lands became as one so when he spat on one, he spat on both. It was little comfort.

Winter came, eight years after the death of Malcolm of Rogarvia. Rumor of civil war had festered into whispers in the tavern, no longer idle chatter among the dissident peasantry. Elliot’s health was failing, and Alex Brewer knew it was time to leave. He still bore the face of Malcolm, and too many people had seen it in New Stetven.

Alex Brewer vanished from New Stetven on Mid-Winter’s Night, bidding his ailing grandfather a fond, if bittersweet farewell. Tane took the roads east and north into Gronzi Forest, losing himself in the woodlands of House Medvyed.

For another year and a half, Tane lived in relative peace. The forests were an ideal place to seek seclusion, the woodland communities small and respective of both nature and one’s privacy. He learned to live with the wood, though the fey of the forest were not to be trifled with, and Tane took to hunting with other woodsmen under the name Tane Oppson.

Urkin Greensward of Hollowbrook was the one man to recognize the name. taking Tane aside when they were delivering pelts in one of the many villages in the region, Urkin asked Tane about Alex. The two had served together many years ago, but Urkin had never known Alex to have a son. Tane tried to laugh the name off as coincidence, explaining he thought he’d heard mention of an uncle Alex in the family somewhere to the south, but Urkin remained skeptical.

“ _’The woods are no place for an Oppson‘_ , Alex told me.” Urkin had frowned. “There is talk of war, Tane. Retainers of old of House Rogarvia would do well to head south. Restov has been sending word of late.”

That was all Tane had bothered to hear. He thought hard about his next course and, before nightfall the next day he was traveling south through the Gronzi toward the Rostland Plains.

Today, he woke in a cramped inn-room in Restov. His old scars itched from years of pent-up enmity, but he ignored the irritation and washed his face. Once dressed, he ventured to the common-room and ordered a pint of mead and bowl of porridge to break his fast.

“Well, well, little lordling.” The gruff laugh of Rhom, a dwarf with a loud mouth and powerful thirst approached him from the front door. “Enjoying a royal repast this morning?”

Already, too many patrons were taking far too much interest in Rhom and Tane.

“Shut yer yap, Rhom.” Tane looked up icily at the dwarf. “Or that beard’ll be yer noose.”

“Ah, easy, easy!” Rhom guffawed, clapping Tane on the shoulder and scooting onto a stool next to him at the bar. “That’s no way to talk to yer oldest and dearest friend in the whole of Golarion.”

Truth be told, Rhom was not anywhere near being Tane’s oldest friend… though Tane was sure Elliot Brewer was dead by now… and as for dearest, Tane didn’t think the dwarf had the scruples to understand how dangerous it was to call attention to Tane’s identity.

“Ol’ Alex must be spinning in his grave.” Tane gave the chuckling dwarf a withering glare, though the younger human offered no other complaint. “Here you are, and he went looking for you before Donal sent me and a bunch of his greenest lads down here to see about a matter in the River Kingdoms. These Stolen Lands are Brevoy’s favorite thorn, these days.”

“Rostland seems eager enough.” Tane shrugged, gulping down his mead and nodding to the barkeep for another. “Their coin’s as good as any.”

“Aye, it is.” Rhom frowned. “But I’ve got better news, you sour-faced stripling.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.” Tane resumed spooning porridge greedily into his mouth.

“This you’ll want to hear.” Rhom leaned over and whispered, a rare event for the dwarf that easily caught Tane’s attention. “I’ve recently had news from a friend in Chesed. Seems a certain friend of Alex has sent someone down here to look after someone that’s got no right to be breathing.”

“What are you playing at, dwarf?” Tane scowled, his voice low and threatening.

“Relax, boy.” The mirth was gone from Rhom’s lips, though his face still held a grin. “Just someone down from Chesed, claiming to be looking for Alex Oppson or his next of kin.”

“And Tane Oppson would be his son.” Tane frowned, scraping the last bits of porridge from the bowl.

“That’s right.” Rhom nodded sagely. “You.”

“Who is this friend of my father?”

“Not someone you’d remember, since you’ve never been to Chesed.” Rhom said flatly, trying to appear bored though his voice was much less subdued. “A brewer and mixer of sorts, answers to the name Torval.”

“Never heard of him.” Tane lied, trying to sound bland. “So what does Torval want with me and why’d he come all the way here?”

“Not him, one of his students.” Rhom shook his head. “He owed a favor to Alex, years back so I’ve heard. Sent this pupil of his to help ol’ Alex and Rhom with business here in the south.”

“With the Stolen Lands.” Tane looked around the common-room. “He here?”

“No, no. But he’s in Restov and he’s eager.” Rhom snorted, trying fruitlessly to hide his amusement. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Tane tipped the barkeep a silver coin and followed the dwarf out the door, slinging his pack onto his shoulder.

…

“Rhom, good sir!” The blue-haired gnome’s face split in an impossibly broad grin. “Such a pleasure to see you again.”

Rhom stood apart from the gnome, chuckling uneasily but obviously wanting to keep his distance.

“Demelvar, sorry to keep you waiting.” Rhom apologized, though Tane could tell the dwarf was more sorry to be in the company of the gnome. “This is Alex’s son, Tane.”

“Tane?” The gnome cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, his grin not diminished. “Tane Oppson, son of Alex Oppson?”

“Yes.” Tane was dubious, though he offered his hand in greeting.

“What a delight!” Demelvar’s frighteningly wide grin seemed to spread just a little wider, as if dared to reach for his ears. “I offer you condolences for the death of your father, of course. Master Torval assured me Alex was a good man.”

“Thank you…” Tane looked at Rhom, who had taken an obvious step back. “Demelvar, was it?”

“Yessir!” Demelvar beamed then, with a flourish, bowed so low his mop of blue hair brushed the dusty cobbles. “Demelvar, Alchemist apprentice extraordinaire!”

“You two have some talking to do, I see.” Rhom coughed, looking for the quickest route away from the situation.

“Rhom, I don’t…” Tane slowly shook his head, but Demelvar was still talking.

“Of course, Master Torval’s a dwarf also… it was lucky Rhom here recognized the name… and Alex, too, of course… very lucky… say, you look a bit pale, Tane. Are you well? Not feeling poorly, I hope. Wait, I’ve got something for that… put a spring in your step and perk you right up, it will, yes sir.”

As the gnome fumbled through his pack and pouches, Tane noticed that Rhom was briskly walking away across the square.

“Uh, Demelvar, I’m fine, thank you.” Tane’s memory clicked. “Torval… of Chesed?”

“Well yes.” Demelvar looked up, his hands still busily sifting through belongings, though now they seemed to have forgotten what they were looking for. “He is _from_ Chesed, I think. He has a shop there, but he runs a school out of Raestar.”

“Two days to the south…” Tane interrupted.

“Quite so!” Demelvar’s grin shrank slightly. “You’ve been there?”

“Uh, no.” Tane backpedaled, “I’ve heard of Master Torval, from my father Alex.”

“Was it before he died?” The gnome’s smile faded to less than a slight upturn of the lips, his eyes wide and searching.

“Yes.” Tane could not hide his confusion.

“Oh, well, that’s not unusual.” Demelvar shrugged. “If it’d been _afterward_ I would’ve been very interested to hear more about it.”

  
“So, you’re an apprentice…?” Tane looked around uncomfortably, too many eyes were lingering on the two of them.

…

Demelvar, for all his antics and caprices, was brilliant… at least, that’s what Tane could see in the gnome’s cunning and chicanery. Tane didn’t know _exactly_ how Demelvar was going to help with the charter, but it didn’t matter. He was here. Tane had adopted the role of Alex’s son and met with an official in Restov regarding the charter that Demelvar seemed so intent on. It was a matter of personal interest to Alex, or had been, and Torval had seen fit to have Demelvar assist Alex in the matter to complete his studies as an apprentice. The gnome used the term “field applications” many times in conversation, interrupted frequently by bouts of laughter as seemingly random mishaps took place involving nearby townsfolk.

“Did you see that?” Demelvar would hoot merrily, his eyes gleaming. “Where was I? Oh yes…”

On and on, but Tane had difficulty catching more than fragments of Demelvar’s mostly one-sided conversations. Absentmindedly, Tane’s hand found the signet in his pocket, a ring bearing the crest of Rogarvia. Malcolm’s ring. Tane’s grip on it tightened as his thoughts turned to revenge.

“Did you ever meet my father?” Tane interjected suddenly. “Alex, did you ever meet him?”

“Huh?” Demelvar’s face went slack, caught between syllables. “Oh, my, no. No, no. Master Torval’s school is nowhere near here. Unless your pops, that’s gnomish for father, your pops went to Chesed and Torval’s shop or he visited Raestar but I’d remember him if he looked like you. At least, I _think_ I’d remember him. Maybe I wouldn’t… memory’s a tricky thing, isn’t it? Like a fish in the water you try to catch with your bare hands and a net covered in blasting powder…”

Tane chuckled, not certain he wanted to understand how Demelvar’s mind worked.

_It won’t get boring, that’s for certain._


End file.
